Jahir laughed softly. "Yes. I return to my books." He glanced at the tea. "Properly fortified."
Vasiht'h grinned. "Dinner later. You're doing prep."
"Set the vegetables out. They shall meet my knife."
It was a good dinner. Good to see the Eldritch eat; good to see him relaxing. At the meal's conclusion, Vasiht'h said, "So, I wasn't sure if you'd be interested, but there's a jazz band playing at the Stringleigh Center downtown tonight. I know you probably want to keep studying but—"
Jahir was already heading for the coat hanging by the door.
They spent the afternoon in one of the Performing Arts Center's more intimate venues, at a table in the back listening to a performance even Vasiht'h could tell was tremendous; through the mindline it became something sublime, lent a luster by his partner's far more acute hearing and better appreciation for the subtleties. But Vasiht'h let himself acknowledge that his own heart sped to the beat, that he felt it standing his fur on end... that he could be moved to passion, something he would have denied a few years ago. He hadn't been indifferent to music, as he'd claimed; he just hadn't wanted to let it in. He hadn't wanted to let a lot of things in, thinking that playing tourist was the same as getting involved. This was on his mind on their trip back, taking one of the people movers toward the nearest Pad station, the bright lights of the city smearing against the dark blue and black outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Jahir's quiet comment surprised him.
"You were right, you know."
"About what this time?" he asked, smile quirking.
A hint of amusement, fondness filing its edges. "When you told me it was no good to throw myself so deeply into schooling that I was forced to forgo actually living here." The Eldritch looked back toward the receding spire of the Arts Center, the light striping his face as the passing street lamps scrolled by. "This is a necessary thing."
Vasiht'h sampled the mindline's complex texture and said, "A life in balance."
The Eldritch inclined his head.
Vasiht'h watched the lights go by a little longer, then said, "You know it hasn't been all one way."
"Ah?" Jahir glanced at him, hair swinging around his throat.
"You've taught me things too." The pounding beat of the music, the sudden syncopation making his breath skip, like his breath had skipped so many times on Selnor. The understanding that life was change and changeable, and that it could exhilarate as well as terrify. The awe and joy of diving into that maelstrom rather than standing aloof from it, clucking his tongue at all the poor people who got so mixed up trying to make their way through the chaos. He tried to find words to express all of that and realized he didn't have to when Jahir's wordless, humbled acknowledgement reached him, gentle as a breeze in spring.
/I guess words are irrelevant now./
/They have their place,/ Jahir replied. /A new way of doing things need not supplant the old ways. It can expand your options instead./
Vasiht'h glanced at the other passengers sharing their cab with them and hid a laugh from everyone but his partner, who looked at him quizzically.
/I think our body language indicates we're still talking, but no one can hear us anymore./
The Eldritch scanned the compartment, then looked fixedly into the dark, mouth twitching. /I can see some of what we do will take some practice./
/It will if we don't want people to know we're talking!/
Jahir did laugh then, and Vasiht'h did his best not to notice the looks they garnered as they stepped out onto the platform and headed home.
Chapter 27
They passed their midterms and their finals, and spent their holiday shopping, entertaining, cooking—"eating," Jahir had complained, splayed in one of their chairs by the fire, and Vasiht'h had snorted, unrepentant—and enjoying the break immensely. Over mulled wine by the fire, during one of these parties, KindlesFlame said to him, "So, settled in?"
"I think so," Jahir said, watching the flames and wondering if he should add another log. He could feel his mentor's regard. "It has not been as hard as I'd thought."
"Mmm. Well, next semester is the real test, you know."
Jahir tilted his head. "I am forewarned. What is it I should be wary of, then?"
"Unless I miss my guess, your schedule's going to involve taking your first practicals?" At Jahir's nod, KindlesFlame said, "That's when you're going to find out if you like it or not."
"I suppose I should feel more anxiety over the prospect, since this is what I reneged on my residency on Selnor to pursue."
"You didn't renege on it," KindlesFlame said dryly. "But yes, most people would be nervous. You're not?"
"No," Jahir said, surprised that it might be so. "Is that strange?"
The foxine chuckled. "No. I felt the same way about medicine. It was like coming home."
That was a touch so swift Jahir almost didn't feel the piercing pain of it, like the dagger he'd once taken to the shoulder. Not because he wanted desperately to find that feeling of belonging himself... but because... he had. This had become home, had become easy and right, had become a point of strength to move from. What did that mean for him, who one day would be recalled to the homeworld? And did it matter, when that time might be centuries from now?
KindlesFlame had been studying his face as he'd worked through the implications. The foxine said, gently, "So. Not worried, mm?"
"No," Jahir said. And then, thinking of Selnor and how critically he'd overworked himself. "Well. Perhaps a little."
"A little is normal," KindlesFlame said. "If it becomes a lot, you know where to find me."
"You have been a great helpmeet, alet."
KindlesFlame snorted. "Don't thank me 'til it's over." And lifted his glass. "Cheers."
Jahir tapped his glass to the Tam-illee's and drank.
There was one practicum class scheduled per semester; not a formal class, but a way of logging required hours toward the practical requirements for the degree. In the first week of class, the student received his assignment to any one of seven separate clinics throughout the city. It struck Jahir as an interesting coincidence that both he and Vasiht'h were assigned to the same clinic on campus. It puzzled him to discover they were scheduled for the same shift. When they compared their initial schedules and discovered the same clients on them, Vasiht'h said, "What in Her name are they doing?" And stood, dropping his data tablet in a messenger bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
"Arii?" Jahir asked, startled.
"I smell Palland's fingerprints all over this," Vasiht'h said. "And I'm going to go have it out of him."
"Have what out of him?" Jahir asked, but he reached for his scarf and coat.
"Whatever cute thing it is he's plotting, because he's plotting something and he didn't bother to consult us," Vasiht'h growled.
Jahir knew better than to argue with his roommate in such a mood. He buttoned his coat, pulled on his gloves, and followed the Glaseah into the raw cold of Seersana's early spring.
Their arrival caused the Seersa to rise from behind his desk, giving Jahir an opportunity to evaluate him against the impressions he'd inherited from Vasiht'h but never made for himself. It fascinated him to find the Seersa shorter than he expected—Vasiht'h being barely five feet to his six and a half made sense of that—and younger; Vasiht'h saw the lines hidden by the thin fur around Palland's eyes far more easily, having grown up seeking signs of age on Pelted faces. But the merry sparkle in the professor's eyes was just the same.
"Vasiht'h, alet," Palland said agreeably. "And here at last is the source of so many of your worries. Jahir Seni Galare, I presume?"
"You have me to rights," Jahir said.
"Lefeyette's given good report of you. It's nice to finally have a chance to make your acquaintance, though I am guessing you're here for a reason?" The Seersa smiled, all innocence, ears perked.
Vasiht'h folded his arms. "You know why we're here."
"Maybe," Palland said, after a moment. He tossed a data tablet onto
the desk between them. "Recognize that?"
Vasiht'h picked it up, frowned. "This is my research from last year."
"Mmm-hmm."
The Glaseah's irritation was like the seasoning on an affection Jahir could taste like curry. He hid his amusement and let his roommate handle the conversation.
"You're throwing us together so we can test my findings?"
Palland snorted. "I'm not throwing you together, alet. You're already a team. And you have been testing your findings for a year now. I'd like you to take them into the clinical environment with the person you appear to have chosen to go into practice with." He glanced at Jahir, lifted a brow. "I'm presuming that is the plan? You're a contact esper."
There was no use denying what was plainly known to half the medical school, given the issues he'd had in his first years. "I am."
"And you know about his research?"
"I do."
"And? You game?"
The colloquialism took him a moment, but he inclined his head, hiding his smile. "I am."
"So?" Palland said to Vasiht'h. "Your problem is… I'm guessing at your next move and arranging permission for it, and that irritates you because you really wanted to think of it yourself?"
"A little bit." Vasiht'h sighed and smiled crookedly. "Alet—"
"Vasiht'h, you would have thought of it yourself and come to me within a few weeks," Palland said, seating himself. "I'm saving you some time, that's all. Unless you're saying you're not interested?"
A question in the mindline now, tentative. Before it could develop words, Jahir answered, /Yes. Of course I will. I have been interested in your research since you advanced the idea to me. I said we should practice it together after school. The sooner we begin, the better, yes?/
Palland was watching them, leaning his face on a hand with the finger extended, pressing into his cheek. "Done conferring?"
"Is it that obvious?" Vasiht'h asked, rueful.
"If you want to hide it you need to stop looking at one another," the Seersa said with a smile. "Or talk to people more oblivious to physical cues."
"We're interested," Jahir said for his friend. "And grateful that you have made arrangements in advance."
"Excellent. We'd like to see how it works in practical application ourselves. I've gotten you placed with Healer Ravanelle. She's comfortable working outside standard rules, and you two are going to have to make up new ones as you go along. Explain to her what you're planning and accept her guidance. And keep us informed."
"Us?" Vasiht'h said.
Palland grinned. "Us, your keepers. That would be me for thee and KindlesFlame for your man there."
"I see," Vasiht'h said, folding his arms. "Got us all figured out, have you, sir."
"Not at all!" the Seersa said, cheerful, ears swiveled forward. "That's part of what's so fascinating about the two of you. So go off and prove us right."
Ravanelle was another Seersa, a female, black as spilled ink with brilliant orange eyes and a mannerism both relaxed and curious. Jahir liked her immediately, and some of his amusement spilled into the mindline, pricking his friend's interest.
/What?/
/Her demeanor is what we are striving to project, is it not?/
Vasiht'h studied her and smiled. /I think we'll be different, but the effect… yes./
"So, my newest project has arrived," Ravanelle said. "Come in, aletsen. Let's have a discussion about the scope of your practicum."
They joined her in her office, very different in character from Palland's, which had the look of something thrown together over decades of occupancy by different tenants. The furniture in Ravanelle's office matched, was comfortable, had been selected not to stress her authority but to give visitors equal footing with her, something she demonstrated by seating herself on one of the well-stuffed chairs facing the dark wood coffee table by the window. Jahir took the couch; Vasiht'h sat beside him on the floor, his shoulders near the Eldritch's knee.
/She does not miss the significance of how we sit./
/She shouldn’t,/ Vasiht'h thought, amusement candying the words. /She took the assessment classes once upon a time herself./
"Can I get you something to drink?" Ravanelle asked after they'd settled. "It's cold outside. I have coffee and tea."
"We're fine," Vasiht'h said for them both, and her brows lifted.
"I see." She leaned forward, hands folded on one knee. "Professor Palland tells me the two of you would like to refine the techniques Vasiht'h was exploring in his research last year, and that this research involves direct subconscious manipulation via esper ability, performed on unconscious subjects. Is that correct?"
"It sounds a lot more menacing put that way," Vasiht'h said ruefully. "But yes. You're correct, Healer."
"Since you did a year's worth of research on the topic, I'm sure you appreciate some of the difficulties involved here, alet?"
"Some," Vasiht'h said. "I won't say I've anticipated all of the challenges, of course."
She grinned, flashing ivory teeth. "You're good with the academic jargon, I see." And laughed at Vasiht'h's chagrin. "No, don't worry. I won't hold that against you! We all have to learn it." She tapped her knee with a finger, thinking—quickly, because she continued after a breath-pause. "Here's my particular challenge, aletsen. My role at the clinic is to oversee the students working here. I do that by assigning them senior therapists, already licensed, to sit in on the sessions and make sure they're on the right track. But I don't have any esper therapists, and unless I'm mistaken, anyone I sit in a room with you is going to see all three of you sitting quietly without speaking until it's over. Yes?"
"That has been how it's worked in the past," Vasiht'h admitted.
"So you've done this before," she said, eyeing them. "Together."
"By accident." Vasith'h tucked one paw under the other, and Jahir sent him a wordless reassurance: No need to fidget. All is well. "A couple of friends who needed us, and it just… happened."
"No hard feelings?" she asked, tilting her head.
"From them?" Vasiht'h shook his head. "They were glad afterward. It's what made us think maybe there's something to this."
"So I've got two students I need to supervise through their practicum, and no way to actually supervise them." She leaned back, lacing her hands over her solar plexus. "What would you recommend I do?"
Vasiht'h looked up at him then. /She has a point about the problems involved. And we have to do this right./
Jahir practiced not looking at him, letting his eyes rest on the scene out the window and hoping his friend would not take offense. He sensed nothing like that through the mindline, fortunately, only a resolve that he found admirable despite the uncomfortable road it was leading them to. /You want to offer to take whomever is observing with us. Do you know if we even can?/
/No. But we can at least try. And if it doesn't work, at least we did everything we could think of./
Jahir did glance at him then. /And if it is not safe for the observer?/
A touch of concern, sharp as the suggestion of knives. /If it's not safe for her, then how is it safe for our patients?/
He shook his head minutely, more to clear it than in rejection. /I don't think it's a danger to the person we are paying attention to. But we cannot pay attention to more than one person at a time./
/Oh.../ Vasiht'h pursed his lips. /You're thinking we might lose track of them./ He wrinkled his nose, one eye squinting. /Is that even possible?/
/Do you know if any of this is possible?/ Jahir answered gently, his laughter twining around the words.
"This is the most fascinating conversation I've never heard," Ravanelle observed, amused. "Care to let me in on any part of it?"
/You explain./
Jahir said, "We are debating the possibility of drawing an observer into our... link. When we do our assessment."
"The link," she repeated. "What's allowing you to communicate right now, you mean."
"No," Vasiht'h said. "What we h
ave with one another is different. You can't be a part of that—"
Jahir interrupted. /Can she? Can anyone? Is there such a thing as a three-way mindline?/
/I'm trying to concentrate here!/ "—but historically what we've done with patients is a less intimate, more transitory connection. There's a possibility we can draw a fourth party into that, but we're not sure how safe it would be for them, since we won't be able to devote any significant attention to their welfare."
/Nicely said,/ Jahir offered.
/Keep thinking at me, it makes it easier to borrow your speech patterns./
/I like how you talk./
/I like how I talk too./ Vasiht'h tried to keep the emotion that would have inspired a grin in the mindline, where it wouldn't intrigue Ravanelle. /But you have the trick of sounding like an authority by being so formal all the time. I'm not above using it if I can./
Jahir was studying Ravanelle. /I don't think you succeeded in impressing the risks of the procedure on her./
"Excellent," Ravanelle said. "I can't wait to listen in."
"So what do I do?" Ravanelle asked two days later when they met her at the clinic for their first appointment.
"What do you usually do?" Vasiht'h asked for them both.
The Seersa nodded at the door. "The patient gets to state a preference. If they want the faculty observer in the room, then I stay in the room. If they don't, I wait outside and listen in remotely."
/One of us will have to touch her./ Jahir said.
Vasiht'h frowned. /Or maybe she could touch the patient?/
Jahir hesitated. "That may work better." To the Seersa, he said politely, "If you could touch the patient when we begin, that may give you the best… vantage."
She chuckled, ears perked. "You haven't the first notion of the vocabulary to use either, do you."
"There has not been much literature written on the subject."
/You see?/ Vasiht'h said. /You talk her talk well./
Mindline (The Dreamhealers 2) Page 26
